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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194614">Breathe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleatory_fox/pseuds/aleatory_fox'>aleatory_fox</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Angry Lambert, Cock Warming, M/M, Scent Kink, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Tantric Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:41:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleatory_fox/pseuds/aleatory_fox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: <em>"Eskel/Lambert + 29 fluff (You smell fantastic) + maybe smut? 👉👈 I love the thought of one of them having a scent kink."</em></p><p>Eskel uses meditation and scent to defuse Lambert's temper...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>196</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Breathe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>“Come on, pretty boy, let’s be having it then,” Lambert snarled, squaring up to Geralt, shoulders swaying, palms spread in offer of a fight. The confrontation had been building all day. Everything about Geralt was pissing Lambert off this winter—his face, his holier-than-thou fucking attitude, his flippant disposal of people that cared for him—yeah, Geralt could fuck right off or get a broken nose. Lambert had decided to opt for the second because he wasn’t going anywhere, was he?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wind your neck in or I’ll break it,” Geralt growled right back, because his patience had now worn away and sometimes he said things he didn’t mean. In fact, the whole of the previous year he’d been saying shit he didn’t mean. Hard to break the habit of a lifetime.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You think you’re so above us, don’t you? The great White Wolf, with all the songs written about your pretty white hair, followed around by yearning bardlings and pretty sorceresses and yet a bleeding heart all the same. You make me fucking sick. Someone should smack some sense into you, I’m game—,” Lambert squared up, Geralt looked ready to throw the first punch, and then Eskel arrived back from hunting grouse. He slung the birds to the floor and forced himself between his brothers, big palms thrusting out against puffed chests.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Enough.” He growled, shoving Lambert back again when the younger wolf decided to test the line. “I said enough.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lambert, who knew better than to test Eskel and his capacity to decisively end a fight, backed off with a final huff. “He’s not worth it anyway.” He turned and stormed back into the keep; Eskel could practically see the dark cloud of menace and rage following in his wake.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“He’s been on one since he got back,” Geralt grumbled. Lambert’s foul mood had followed him up the Witcher’s Trail and taken up residence with them for the winter. Usually it abated after a couple of days. A few nights’ sleep, some good food and time spent in Eskel’s bed, often with Geralt on the other side, like two burly bookends surrounding him in warmth and safety. This winter he’d kept his distance; sleeping in his own bed, snarking at them during training and drinking himself into a stupor each night. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The year had been a difficult one. Lonely. Dark. Painful. Full of people that despised him, wanted to hurt him. Lambert had gone numb to protect himself from it and then padded out his buffer with anger for good measure. The news that Geralt had driven off all that Lambert craved only poured salt into an open wound. He needed reminding of what it was to feel, to be loved. Eskel took a deep breath as he plucked their dinner from the floor. “Leave it to me.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>***</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Not even the steam of the hot springs eased the knots of tension in Lambert's chest. He glared at the domed ceiling and scrubbed at his skin. Nothing was shifting it. The year had been… shit. Shitter than usual. Everywhere he went people sang the praises of the White Wolf. It should've been a boon; less spit in his food, fewer cheap aldermen skimping out on payment. But it had only served to remind Lambert of what he wasn't.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Not special. Not important. </em>
  </p>
  <p>Nothing worse than turning up to a village, offering to kill the beast gnawing on their women folk and see flickers of disappointment when it became apparent you weren't the famous Geralt of Rivia. And the worst part of it all? The dickhead didn't appreciate it. Geralt had people that cared for him. Loved him. And he pushed them away, he—</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>Fuck it.</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lambert took a bottle of home-brewed moonshine to his bedroom with the intention of getting blindingly drunk and passing out. A deep and dreamless sleep. The best kind. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The scent hit him as he opened the bedroom door; burning cedar wood underpinned the sensory overload that was the man sitting before it. Eskel knew Lambert’s weakness. The mutations had heightened all of his senses—making the world deafening, pungent, blinding, just fucking unbearable—but it was Lambert’s nose that guided him the most. His keen sense of smell allowed him to identify individual alchemical ingredients in decoctions, track any animal from miles away, smell sickness in people before they even knew it themselves…</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It also made him weak for Eskel. Because Eskel’s scent was a heavenly mix of so many different notes, it overwhelmed any other thought in Lambert’s head. He placed the bottle of moonshine on a low chest, closed his eyes and tilted his head back to scent the air.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Labdanum from the rockrose found around the balmy hot springs deep in the Blue Mountains, probably picked up when he was hunting harpies; vetiver from the thick, clumpy grasses that grew near the narrow rivers flowing down from the snowy ice caps from when he was harvesting earlier in the day; sandalwood, citrus accords.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Eskel knelt before the fire, the backs of his hands on his thighs with his palms open towards the ceiling. All his clothes were neatly folded on the back of a chair—because when you invited yourself into someone’s room, you obviously kept your shit tidy—and the firelight highlighted the crests and curves of his muscles, grooves cast in flickering shadow. Lambert could hear each slow, deep breath beneath the crackle of the fire; the delicious aroma of his pheromones, thick and irresistible, curling beneath it all, pulling Lambert further into the room.. He was standing before Eskel before his mind even returned to cognisance. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The order was unspoken. Rich amber eyes opened lazily and rolled up Lambert’s body to his face and he pulled his clothes off—shirt shucked over his head, trousers kicked away—before sinking to his knees. This close Eskel smelled divine. It spilled through Lambert’s chest and coiled around his heart. Lambert couldn’t look away, blazing sunstone eyes settled upon honeyed gold, soft and warm, and he was certain he was viewing Eskel’s soul. Open, bare, and vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to press himself close, burying his nose in Eskel’s hair, his chest, beneath his arms, between his thighs. Breathe him in until his scent bled out of Lambert’s pores.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>One big hand left Eskel’s thigh and brought Lambert’s palm to that thick chest. Lambert could feel the heavy drum of his heart—such a big fucking heart, strong and noble—it reverberated up his wrist, thrumming through his bicep, as if it was scaling him and making itself a new home right alongside his own. They beat together. Each breath drawn as one, each pulse of warmth through their veins mirrored by the other. A cyclical exchange of love and nourishing breath as Lambert’s hand rested over the top of Eskel’s, relishing the feel of rough calluses and supple skin.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Eskel was lulling him into meditation. When a Witcher was both at rest and alert. In tune with their body and the world around them more acutely than at any other time; everything more vibrant, but somehow softer. Meditation smoothed rough edges, soothed pains and quietened tumultuous minds. Focused on Eskel’s breathing, the liquid gold of his eyes, Lambert didn’t even notice himself slip into it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He swallowed as Eskel’s other palm rested on his chest; his thick fingers impossibly tender, caressing through soft hair, the scarred heel brushing over the hard nub of his nipple. With only a few tender touches, Lambert’s prick was already swelling between his thighs, reflected again in Eskel’s body, satin-soft skin flushing dark with blood, thick veins pressing up towards a plump, round head. Lambert knew what it tasted like, what it smelled like, how it felt as it slid over his lips and down his throat. He knew what it was like to hold it there, to have Eskel’s must vulnerable part held inside his mouth; an exchange of trust. He wanted it, but he knew he had to wait.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He knew the wait was worth it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The hand on his chest drew away, fingertips trailing a few gentle flutters as they departed, and Eskel picked up a chipped porcelain jug. The oil inside was still warm, and Lambert gasped as Eskel poured it over his chest and shoulders. His eyes slid closed as it dribbled across his skin; he could feel the stilted progress of each bead as Eskel waited, admiring the shine of the fire across their surface. His eyes opened again and Eskel was there waiting for him, his gaze intense, focused, but knowing he was the centre of Eskel’s world in that moment made Lambert dizzy with anticipation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Their hearts, their lungs, their thoughts—in tune. The brush of Eskel’s hands over his shoulders urged Lambert closed; he tilted his face into the curve of Eskel’s neck and breathed deeply just as skilled fingers began to massage firm circles down his back. A soft moan, barely a gasp, and Lambert rested his hands on Eskel’s thighs, kneading the hard muscle, feeling the tickle of the dark hair that coalesced in thick curls at his groin. He knew he’d be allowed soon. It was worth it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His eyes closed again as Eskel reached his ass, still progressing in unyielding circles through the slick of oil; no one else touched him here. Eskel had to lean forward as he worked and Lambert whined quietly, lips pressed to the virile thrum of the pulse in Eskel’s neck. A brief brush over his cleft, and then Eskel was working back up his spine. “Keep breathing, really slow,” Eskel whispered, his voice so low and so husky that it trembled through Lambert’s chest long after he’d fallen silent again, Lambert’s body obeying the subtle authority unquestioningly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lambert felt like he was melting into Eskel’s body; their connection so close that it didn’t matter when he sat back on his heels again and presented his chest. The thick muscles undulated in Eskel’s hands, Lambert’s prick beginning to drool as his excitement began to swell higher, harder. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When Eskel reached Lambert’s thighs, he looked up to find his eyes again. Eskel’s navigation of Lambert’s body was effortless—the map of it ingrained in his memory—and he kept eye contact as his fingers massaged up the inside of Lambert’s legs. He missed his cock, a single, long bead of precome dripping from the tip onto the back of his hand, and cupped his balls instead. His palm undulated and Lambert moaned, desperate to keep his eyes level but every muscle in his torso went weak. Two fingertips pressed down his taint as the other hand curled around his shaft. A slow massage from tip to base, pressure pulsating, twisting. Damp lips parted, the pressure swelled in his stomach, the orgasm edging closer. His balls pulled tight, his breaths mere pants, and then Eskel eased off. “Nng, Eskel.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just breathe.” Eskel replied, returning his attention to Lambert’s thighs, and then his balls when his cock softened slightly. It should be infuriating, but the peaks and troughs, the constant flush of renewed arousal, only heightened Lambert’s overall pleasure. Every time he drew close—the undulation of Eskel’s palm, the stroke of his fingers, the press down his taint just perfect—Eskel eased off, letting him fall back from the brink into a dull haze. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>By the time two fingers circled his hole, his balls hot and heavy on Eskel’s wrist, Lambert was aching for the next stage. His body was so relaxed it opened easily to Eskel’s fingers, clenching around them gratefully as they curled and thrust, finding his sweet spot and flashing lightning up his spine. “Oh, please. I want you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Not to come. Not for it to end.</em> He wanted to be joined. Wanted Eskel’s heat and energy inside him, pulsing up his spine from the tip of his cock, wanted to be swamped in his scent until Lambert didn’t exist anymore; a part of Eskel, tucked safely away in his heart, cradled and loved. Thick fingers withdrew and strong hands guided Lambert onto Eskel’s lap, their foreheads pressed together so that each could watch the other as Eskel’s prick finally sank home. Pupils blew wide, gasps stuttering through the steady rhythm of their breathing. It always felt so right. Like becoming whole again after a year of existing as mere fragments, with sharp, cutting edges. Not now though. Now everything was round, and soft, and bliss. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>This was Lambert’s time. Eskel handed him control, hands stroking over his back and sides, while agile hips began to swirl and circle, dragging Eskel’s huge cock in and out of his hole at different angles. He pressed his open mouth to Eskel’s chest, sucking red, bruising marks, tasting his sweat; the citrus, the sandalwood, the vetiver and rockrose; the colours of the scents exploded behind his eyes as the pleasure lapped through him. Oranges, lemons, verdant greens and bright pinks. Lambert licked at the hammering pulse in Eskel’s neck; the deep, indulgent moans rumbling from the thick chest in front of him a herald for the approaching storm.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lambert’s nails left small, red trails on Eskel’s shoulders as his pace became vigorous; the head of his cock smeared through the trail of hair on Eskel’s stomach as he ground across it, following the faint grooves of abdominal muscles through his winter padding. His body sucked greedily at Eskel’s cock, unwilling to let its heat go each time Lambert lifted his hips, trying to keep them together despite the reward of having Eskel press in again; the stretch of his fat, swollen head, the grind across the pearl of honest-to-god ecstasy buried where only Eskel could ever reach.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Lambert licked the droplets of sweat clinging to Eskel’s stubbled cheek, he nosed through the damp wisps of hair falling around his ears; he snuffled, scented, kissed and licked as the rest of his body throbbed with pleasure. He only peaked when he felt Eskel come—powerful, hot pulses that flooded Lambert’s hole; he rode Eskel’s still stiff cock, lubricated further by the spend that leaked past his rim. When he came, his body pulled taut, spine arching, fingers clutching desperately onto that thick chest. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Limbs like lead, body weak, Lambert hung from Eskel’s body as he stood and transported them both to the bed. They laid side-by-side and listened to the fire sputter in the hearth, and when Lambert’s senses returned he rolled on top of Eskel and pushed his arms above his head. He worked his way down, nose tucking into the curve of his neck, the dip of his armpit, soft kisses trailing in his wake until he was nibbling the delicate flesh of Eskel’s inner thighs. “You smell so good.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mmm,” Eskel stretched languidly, clearly enjoying the worship, and expectant of what came next. Lambert nuzzled heavy balls, dark hair brushing over his lips and nose, dripping with the musk of their union. He took Eskel’s cock between his lips and held it there, eyes closed as he relished the weight of it on his tongue, and settled back into a blissful haze.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Half an hour later, when Eskel took his head in both hands and fucked up into his mouth, Lambert moaned and drooled and shook apart. The last remnants of bitterness dissolved in the heat, the taste, the scent of Eskel. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tomorrow night, Geralt would join them and Lambert would take them both. He’d fuck pretty boy’s pretty mouth just like Eskel had his, and spread his thighs nice and wide, share him with Eskel all night long like a fine wine. But for now, Lambert’s entire world, everything he was, everything he thought and wanted: it was all Eskel.</p>
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